


The Shadowy Murmur of Suns

by that_1_incident



Series: Petals of Darkness [1]
Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F, Madam Spellman - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-09-14 23:39:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16922571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/that_1_incident/pseuds/that_1_incident
Summary: As history tells it, Zelda waits for no man, nobody, no entity save the Dark Lord himself, yet Mary somehow has her dangling on a string.





	The Shadowy Murmur of Suns

**Author's Note:**

> The title and one phrase in the penultimate paragraph are from [Clifford Franklin Gessler's "Petals of Darkness"](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/browse?contentId=16315); I said I could write Madam Spellman fic [based on this six-word quote alone](http://sellingsecrets.tumblr.com/post/180696968694/violentwavesofemotion-the-dark-scented), and I fucking delivered.
> 
> Might I also present the following #MadamSpellman #content for your consideration: [Something Wicked This Way Comes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16523309), [There's Magic in the Night](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16575416), [There's Something About Mary](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16676707), [Post Tenebras Lux](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16781785), [The Deathly Solace of Presence](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17299514), [The Silvery Glamour of Star-Birth](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17659382), and [Open, Locks, Whoever Knocks](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18279485).

_Spinning on that dizzy edge_  
_Kissed her face and kissed her head_  
_Dreamed of all the different ways I had to make her glow_  
… _You, soft and only, you, lost and lonely_  
_You, strange as angels_  
_Dancing in the deepest oceans_  
_Twisting in the water_  
_You're just like a dream_

**The Cure**

* * *

Zelda was genuinely taken by surprise that first night, so the exact details of what occurred are muddlingly drenched in the intoxicating scents of sex and sweat and Mary's very distinct perfume. To further add to the complexity, there are pockets of time entirely missing from her recollection that, as far as she can tell, roughly correspond to each instance of Mary making her climax. 

It so happened that they had the house to themselves that evening, praise Satan, so Mary took her against a wall without the threat of interruption until her cries of ecstasy echoed tremulously through the foyer, then proceeded to do the same on a chaise lounge in the parlor. After that, it was only a matter of time before Zelda's still-shaking fingers slipped beneath Mary's skirt, stroked their way up the smooth milkiness of the other woman's thighs and slid reverently between her slick folds, crooking in a manner that made Mary bury that glorious head of curls in Zelda's shoulder and bite down hard enough to leave a mark. 

Whenever Zelda caught sight of her marred skin in the mirror over the ensuing days, her mind flashed back to the delicious noises Mary made upon falling apart.

\--

Zelda isn't above what she did at all - she has needs and she won't apologize for them - but she's a little incredulous about the individual with whom she chose to do it. 

Mary Wardwell is, to put it baldly, incorrigible. Everything about her is more pronounced than necessary, more overt, more abrasive. Her whisper? Too soft and sibilant. Her eyes? Too pale, too penetrating. To say nothing of her smile, which is unsettlingly wide, nor of her wardrobe, on which Zelda's opinion vacillates between tiresome and titillating. Something about the way Mary presents herself feels like an attack on Zelda personally, as if all her senses are being ruthlessly overstimulated at once. Zelda has to steel herself before so much as _regarding_ the other woman and, more often than not, she still finds herself unprepared. 

There's also the slightly inconvenient fact that Mary is Sabrina's teacher, but as Zelda can't imagine they'll ever have a repeat performance, she resolves not to think about it too much.

Of course, they do have a repeat performance. And then another.

\--

There's something debaucherously alluring about the way Mary looks after sex - clothing askew, hair unkempt, lipstick smudged, eyes glassy - and knowing she possesses the ability to have such a devastating effect on such a formidable creature makes Zelda feel... empowered, to say the least. 

Needless to say, this in no way escapes Mary's notice, and it certainly isn't something she's at _all_ prepared to permit. On the contrary, once she sees Zelda practically reveling in her undoing, she commits to taking corrective action posthaste and swiftly formulates a plan of attack that seems primarily to involve pleasuring Zelda into submission as sweetly and sinfully as she can. Employing an exquisite combination of her fingers, her tongue and her unnervingly singular focus, she pushes Zelda to the brink in a dazzling variety of ways, only to call her back at the very last possible second. Zelda writhes in that gorgeously painful limbo for an indeterminate amount of time until she finally succumbs, pulsing desperately into Mary's mouth as her lips soundlessly form the Dark Lord's hallowed name. 

\--

And the thing is, Mary keeps showing up. 

Sometimes, her reasons give the surface impression of being completely above board - to advise Sabrina; to charm Hilda; to assure Ambrose that no, the tattoo on the buttock of one of the mortuary's newest residents almost certainly does not portend the imminent release of the Four Horsemen and is more likely the result of a mortal taking the False Bible's description of a seven-horned lamb just a shade more literally than was intended - but other times, Mary will arrive with a very particular expression on her face, and Zelda will just _know_. In those moments, it's patently obvious to Zelda that there'll be no tedious smalltalk to navigate over tea with her sister, no question-and-answer sessions with her ceaselessly inquisitive niece. Instead, what lies in store promises to be much rougher, much filthier, more thrilling and breathless and ultimately climactic, and she truly can't wait.

While typically motivated more by exhaustion and convenience than anything grander or more romantic, the two of them tend to post-coitally melt into each other nonetheless, glistening with sweat and panting for air. And if Zelda isn't home alone or may not be for long, Mary takes the opportunity to weave a veil of soundlessness around whichever room they've found themselves in, and then promptly tests its limits by making Zelda scream. 

\--

As history tells it, Zelda waits for no man, no _body_ , no entity save the Dark Lord himself, yet Mary somehow has her dangling on a string. Embarrassingly, she's begun snapping to attention at every sound that might signify someone coming down the driveway or knocking at the door, and this regrettable development keeps her on edge and hopeful and usually disappointed. Between Sabrina's bevy of mortal consorts and the fact that Hilda seems to be acquainted with every living creature in Greendale and a few of the undead to boot, the identity of the person who comes calling isn't often what Zelda would like it to be - but on occasion, it _is_ , and the thrilling intensity of that realization always feels physically jarring. 

Although Zelda isn't inclined to examine that particular facet of their dalliances any more closely than absolutely necessary, she will acknowledge that in Mary's presence, she gets the sense of something settling inside her, of her mind exhaling and her body relaxing. At the same time, there's a tension there, an itch she can't scratch unless Mary does it for her, and fortuitously for her, Mary's typically willing to not only oblige but to double down for good measure. 

Zelda usually can't catch her breath for quite a spell after the other woman has had her way with her, so more often than not, they end up lying together quietly while Mary's fingertips trace soft, precise patterns along her spine. It's during moments like these that Zelda catches herself wanting to kiss the other woman - or, more specifically, musing in an alarmingly giddy fashion about what Mary's lips might taste like and whether she'd be permitted to tangle her fingers in that wild mane of hair. In a strange way, kissing seems more intimate than anything they've done thus far, and she's not sure why she yearns for it so badly. That aspect, she thinks, is what bothers her the most. 

\--

Sabrina's dark baptism has been a long time coming, and this unfortunate reality resulted in Zelda writing off the bulk of November as fraught with worry and little else. But at the risk of sounding cliché, it all feels worth it when Sabrina - now mercifully unencumbered by coercion and acting of sound body and mind - finally signs her name in the Book of Night. Zelda would weep if she didn't have an image to uphold, and when she meets Mary's eyes over her niece's newly platinum head, she thinks she recognizes the same austere restraint. 

\--

Much to Zelda's initial chagrin, the Spellmans have a party after the ceremony. Hilda had baked for days and the spread reflects it, the parlor festooned with enough bunting to give Greendale's annual Fourth of July parade a sincere run for its money, and Zelda's surprised to discover that not even the terrifically tedious chatter of the coven's more trying members can put a damper on the festivities. On the contrary, she finds she's quite enjoying herself. 

\--

Against all odds, the time passes quickly, and before Zelda knows it, the guests are slowly filing out in dribs and drabs until only Mary remains, licking powdered sugar off her fingers in a manner that's positively unholy as she languidly watches Hilda bustle between the kitchen and the parlor. Zelda marvels that the other woman is able to keep her balance while leaning against the wall at such an angle, and it doesn't escape her notice that Mary's dress - the length of which was already pushing the bounds of common decency even by satanic standards - has ridden up accordingly. She hurriedly moistens her lips and sends a quick prayer to the Dark Lord that the other woman won't be able to tell how dry her throat is. 

"Shall I escort you out?" she inquires pointedly, and Mary affixes her with a knowing smile. 

"That would be lovely," the other woman breathes, her voice liquid velvet and dripping with unrealized potential. Zelda swallows hard and wills herself to keep her composure. 

They make it all the way to the front door without incident, but then Mary trails her hand across Zelda's wrist as if drawing a question mark with her fingertips. When Zelda looks up, Mary's lips meet hers. 

\--

The sudden, shocking sensation leaves Zelda feeling temporarily rearranged, and as her brain scrambles to reboot, Mary licks into her mouth with a boldness that borders on insolence before nipping none too gently at her lip. 

The fact of the matter is that they've both existed on this earthly plane for a mortally untenable number of decades, during which Zelda presumes Mary's lived and loved and lost just as she has. All of which is to say that it's not often Zelda finds herself in uncharted waters these days, so when Mary laughs against her mouth in wonderment, she gets the irrepressibly joyful urge to do the same. 

\--

"Bye, everyone; I'm leaving."

Zelda's buried in _Kathimerini_ at the breakfast table - a Greek broadsheet that, in her not-so-humble opinion, provides the most comprehensive coverage of the country's ongoing financial crisis - and the smoke from her cigarette curls pleasingly around the pages. She tilts the newspaper just in time to see Hilda plant an exuberant kiss on the exiting Sabrina's cheek.

"Have a good day, dear," she says mildly, doing her best to outright ignore her sister's inelegant display of affection. 

"See you tonight, Aunt Zee." Sabrina scrubs at her face with the back of her hand in an effort to eradicate all traces of Hilda's lipstick until Ambrose shoots her a discreet thumbs-up. "Oh, is Ms. Wardwell sleeping over?" 

Zelda freezes. After a beat - and pretending not to notice the loaded glances exchanged among her family members - she inquires as calmly as possible, "Sabrina, whatever do you mean?" 

Sabrina's forehead creases. "I thought we…" She makes eye contact with Ambrose, then seems horrified when he shakes his head almost imperceptibly. "Oh, um, well…" She shrugs a little awkwardly and shoots Zelda a sheepish grin. "We know, Aunt Zee. That you and Ms. Wardwell, um… we know."

Zelda turns to Hilda - who, quite infuriatingly, is beaming at her - and then to a distinctly amused-looking Ambrose. 

"It's…" Her nephew appears to be trying his damnedest to keep a straight face. "It's not news, Auntie." 

Zelda huffs, abjectly mortified, and retreats behind _Kathimerini_. 

\--

Mary does end up staying at the Spellman house that night, a development that causes Zelda to feel an unexpected surge of gratitude toward her sister for abruptly moving out of their formerly shared bedroom. After Zelda ventures to Mary's abode a couple of days later, their new routine quickly begins to feel extraordinarily ordinary, and they ease into it with the comfort of resuming something familiar even though it's anything but. 

Although they never actually discuss it, Zelda's confident the two of them are on the same page, whatever that page may read. They kiss a lot more in the days following the party, almost like they're making up for lost time, and Zelda eventually starts keeping a tube of lipstick at Mary's cottage so she can reapply as she's leaving. Before she knows it, the dark-scented sweetness of Mary's laughter has become her favorite sound - with the notable exception, perhaps, of the soft cry the other woman makes when the tip of Zelda's tongue pushes her over the precipice to pleasure - and regardless of whose bed they find themselves in, they grow accustomed to curling around each other and drifting off to sleep with their fingers tangled together. 

It's on one such night, with Mary's breath lightly tickling the back of her neck, that Zelda realizes she just might be in love.

**Author's Note:**

> Was your curiosity piqued by that throwaway mention of the time Mary had to confirm for Zelda and Ambrose that no, the tattoo on the buttock of one of the mortuary's newest residents almost certainly did not portend the imminent release of the Four Horsemen and was more likely the result of a mortal taking the False Bible's description of a seven-horned lamb a little too literally? You're in luck, my friend: [The Deathly Solace of Presence](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17299514) will tell you all about it.
> 
> Oh, and [The Silvery Glamour of Star-Birth](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17659382) will tell you more about how Mary keeps showing up to advise Sabrina - from Lilith's perspective.


End file.
